


Old and New

by tjmystic



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Spoilers, spoilers 3x11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 19:51:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjmystic/pseuds/tjmystic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle's dreams of Rumple finally have a happy ending</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old and New

Old and New  
SPOILERS FOR 3X11

25 Days of Christmas Ficathon  
For: esinofsardis

esinofsardis prompted: FTL, Belle is caught out in the snow and knocks on the door of the Dark Castle seeking shelter

Rating: R (for steamy opening-scene sex)

Author’s Note: First off, I need to say that I didn’t follow the prompt to the letter. Actually, I kinda reversed it. I’d tell you more, but… well, it’s probably best if you just read. As always, sorry for the angst.

 

Her husband was warm overtop of her as he kissed her brow. He was always warm, even when everything else was cold, and that was never more true than when they lay together in bed. 

Belle shivered happily as he moved his lips down to hers, tenderly kissing the skin all around her mouth before finally settling on the pink skin in the middle. 

“You taste wonderful, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I don’t know why that still surprises me after all this time, but it does.” 

She blushed, but allowed him entrance into her mouth all the same. His tongue was just as hot as the rest of him, and it burned her all the way to her core. She wasn’t the only one experiencing that effect, though, judging by the hardening point against her thigh. 

She wriggled happily and lapped the roof of his mouth, savoring his muffled “fuck” with the tip of her tongue. “You taste good, too.” 

It was his turn to moan this time, the sound travelling down his spine and into their conjoined hips. She almost smirked, but her mouth opened in a gasp instead when he flipped them over, holding her by her waist he bucked upward. His cock felt flushed, swollen, on her skin, and her eyes fluttered shut as her lips accepted him. 

“You… you feel better, though,” she whimpered. 

Rumple hummed incoherently, too focused on pushing his cock back and forth between her thighs. He was teasing them both, keeping his cock buried in the silky wetness around her clit instead of pushing it inside her, but she couldn’t find it in herself to mind. Not when he was making such beautiful noises and giving her a front seat to such a beautiful show. 

With a smile, he reached up and brushed her hair from her cheek, holding her there as he’d done time and time before. She couldn’t resist the urge to nuzzle into him, kissing his palm even as she slicked her clit against the head of him. 

“I love you,” she murmured. “I love you so much, Rum. I can’t even explain…” 

His thumb brushed her lip, silencing her. His eyes were dark, open as they only were when they loved each other, and her own stare brightened as she took it in. She’d never grow tired of this. She’d never grow tired of loving him.

“Belle.” He held her tight, finally giving into desire as he worked his way inside. Belle’s eyes snapped shut, unable to stay open under the torrent of such pleasure. All she could see now was darkness. All she could do was feel.

“Belle,” he repeated, dotting her name against her skin. “I love you. You made me stronger…”

Belle snuggled deeper into the sheets, rubbing her cheek against her pillow as she slowly woke up. It was still dark outside, to her surprise, not anywhere close to morning if the moon was anything to go by, and much cooler than she’d remembered it being. She shifted towards the other side of the bed, seeking out her Rumple to make her warm. The only thing her fingers touched, though, were cold sheets. 

Confused, she blinked her eyes open the rest of the way. The mattress beside her was still made, as if no one had ever touched it. The pillow bore no indentions, no scent or remote trace that her husband had been there. And her hand, much unlike she remembered it, bore no ring.

She stilled, her body growing numb with dread. She’d been dreaming. Only dreaming. Only there was Rumplestiltskin her husband. Only there that they’d had time to get married. That they’d had time for everything. 

And that was when she remembered they hadn’t.

It didn’t take long for the memories to come back. She felt like she’d been shot all over again.

“No,” she gasped. “Rumple.”

She jerked up, searching for a light switch so she could brighten the room and prove herself wrong. But there were no light switches here, no lamps nor fans nor anything electrical to speak of. There were only candles. She was sleeping in Rumple’s castle, in the room he’d once designated as hers. 

A smothered cry bubbled up in her throat. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. If she kept telling herself that he was here, that he was still beside her, everything would be okay. Everything would be fine. 

And yet, her whole body still shook. She wanted to feel him. And no amount of pretending could bring that back or make that alright. 

Frantic, she twisted back to her side of the bed, hands groping desperately for the table beside her. It had to be there. It was all she had left of him. It couldn’t –

She let out a sob when her fingers touched the wooden frame. Shaking, she yanked it towards her chest, turning it over so she could see the face inside. Her Rumple’s eyes, magically recreated by Tinkerbell, twinkled happily up at her. She couldn’t breathe.

“You told me forever,” she heaved. “But you lied.”

Belle took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down, but the oxygen in her lungs only made her tears come faster. She could see him when she blinked her eyes. She could still feel his phantom touch. 

She forced her eyes open, glaring heavily at the face in front of her.

“You lied! You told me your future was one that had me in it! You told me you wanted to be with me forever!”

The painting said nothing. It never did.

With a roar, she smashed both fists into the canvas. It shook in its frame, one corner snapping free, but, otherwise, it didn’t move. The man inside didn’t move. And he never would again. She sobbed as she smacked the painting’s face again and again, striking the lips she so longed to press to hers just one more time.

“You promised me we’d be together! You promised me! YOU PROMISED ME!”

Rumplestiltskin didn’t answer her. He only smiled, staring down at her with the empty eyes of a soul no longer in existence. 

She whimpered, and let the portrait fall to the floor. 

It was supposed to get easier with time, the grief. It was supposed to get easier to forget his laugh, or his smile, or his touch. But, if anything, it only seemed to have gotten worse. Every morning that she woke up alone, realizing that the other side of the bed was cold and untouched, broke her a little more. This was supposed to be their time for a happy ending. Their chance to make things right and be happy for once. Instead, she was left to mourn him on her own. And he was dead.

She took a deep shuddering breath and shut her eyes. It wasn’t good for her to wallow like this, and she knew that, if Rumple could see her, he’d beg her to get out and try to be happy. She just didn’t know how to go about doing such a thing. She could always call on Neal, she supposed. Regina, in a clumsy attempt to atone for all she’d done to her, had given Belle a mirror so she could contact anyone at will. But the only person she ever used it for was Neal. He was the only person who’d known him as she’d known him. The only person with whom she could share happy stories and try to forget about what had happened. The only person who could truly mourn their Rumplestiltskin.

But even he didn’t seem like much of a help to her anymore. Not when he was just as incapable of promising that Rumple would return as she was. 

SMASH!

Belle jumped, turning to face the door of the library. No one else was supposed to be in the castle. Robin Hood had left some time ago, allowing her room to grieve by herself. But, while her imagination conjured Rumplestiltskin every night, it never conjured anything else.

“Hello?” she called, voice still hoarse from crying. 

No one answered. 

She listened, carefully, for a second longer, but all she heard was the soft fall of snow outside. She was almost ready to write it off, diagnose herself as mad from grief and let it be, when the sound repeated again. 

Her eyes narrowed of their own volition, her body beginning to shiver now with rage instead of despair. It was the madness of her grief, she knew, that made her react so harshly, but she couldn’t help it. Any friend of hers – or, more accurately, anyone who claimed to be a friend of hers when it suited them – would’ve yelled for her immediately. They wouldn’t have dawdled about and made such a racket. And that meant whoever was downstairs was an intruder, intent, most likely, on pilfering goods from the late Dark One. 

Belle’s mouth set in a grim line, her spine straightening with the first sense of purpose she’d felt in months. She wouldn’t stand idly by while someone paraded through her one true love’s home. Especially not if they were sorting through it for something to steal. She wouldn’t allow it. 

Or else, she’d die trying. Maybe then she would finally be able to see her Rumplestiltskin again. 

Quick and quiet, she crawled off the bed and picked up the sword she kept under the mattress. It was Neal’s, one of the few things he’d managed to make her take. In this moment, she had to admit that it was serving a purpose. 

She held it high as she marched down the stairs, searching the corridor for any trace of movement. When the next sound came, though, a softer “oomph” as if someone had hit the floor, she knew she wouldn’t find anything outside of the dining room. The place where she had fallen from the ladder and Rumple caught her. Where they both realized they were in love. Where they’d had their first kiss. 

Her blood boiled, and, throwing subtlety aside, she bashed open the door and barreled into the room.

A window was open in the corner, pushed against the curtains and allowing a small pile of snow to build up on the floor. Aside from the minimal light outside, though, the rest of the room was pitch black.

Thump.

Belle spun around, searching the darkness for some sign of life. 

“Reveal yourself!”

The tapestries shimmered, but no one answered. Belle hefted Neal’s sword a little higher. 

“I command you, reveal yourself! You have no business here! If I find you before you show yourself, than I promise, I –”

“Hey.”

Belle’s hand went slack. The sword clattered loudly to the floor, echoing in the awful silence that now filled the room. She knew that voice. She’d dreamt of that voice. 

Slowly, unwilling to move too fast lest the illusion disappear, she turned and looked toward the fireplace.

“Rumple?”

She didn’t see anything for a long, still moment. The light was still too faint, too small to let her see anything past the window. But then a brighter one, orange and warm and soft, grew from the fireplace, and the room was slowly bathed in light. 

In front of her, standing tall, and straight, unhindered by a cane or worries or grief, stood Rumplestiltskin. 

Belle’s whole body jerked forward, her head feeling faint, but she forced herself to stay put. He wasn’t real. He couldn’t be. She’d seen him. 

And yet…

The man, or figure, or dream, or whatever he was walked towards her on legs wobblier than a newborn calf’s. He banged into the table just a few steps from the fire, and the reason for the noise was instantly apparent.

“Your leg,” she muttered before she could stop herself. “What –”

He laughed, low and simple and free, and gods how she shook. This couldn’t be real. She just had to remind herself that it wasn’t real.

“Odd side effect,” he answered. His voice was just as rich as she remembered it, still rolling and bright, and her eyes threatened to droop shut. “My limp is gone. Not healed by magic, just gone. Like it’s never been there.” 

She couldn’t think of anything to say to that. She couldn’t think of anything period. Just the same, repeating monologue that was getting harder and harder to remember. This isn’t real…

It took longer than it once had, but, eventually, he reached her side. She could see him fully now, his grey-flecked hair, his tan skin, his dark brown eyes. It was all just as she remembered it. But there was something more, a lightness that she’d never, ever seen in him before. It was as if everything that had weighed him down was suddenly gone. As if it had magically been killed. 

She found it suddenly hard to breathe.

Unable to help herself, she reached out and caressed his cheek. His face relaxed instantly, eyes falling shut as he pressed into her hand. Her own eyes were blown, though. He was hot. Not warm, like her dreams, or cold, like her reality had started to become. He was hot to the touch. Just as he’d been in real life. That wasn’t something she could’ve imagined. Not even in her wildest dreams.

The floor hit her knees, all air leaving her lungs as she collapsed.

“You’re real. You’re alive.”

Rumple was there for her in an instant, kneeling before her, holding her up, keeping her steady like she always had for him. This wasn’t a fantasy. This wasn’t something she’d ever thought possible.

“Belle, Belle, it’s okay,” he soothed, pulling her tight and rubbing circles against her back to help her breathe. “I didn’t believe it either. But then I heard your voice. I never thought I’d hear that voice again.”

Tears clouded her eyes, but she managed to look up at him anyway. He was here. Her hands sought him out, grasping for every inch of him she could find to prove that this wasn’t just another illusion. But everything felt just the same, just as she remembered it. The only thing different was him – the only thing different was that he was no longer pressed down by his self-loathing. 

Sobbing, she wound her hands around his neck and yanked herself into his lap. She felt home here. This was where she was always meant to be.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” she cried. “I thought I’d lost you.”

He reached out to touch her, too, caressing her from her hip all the way to her ear, grazing her waist and breasts and throat as he did. She’d missed this sensation so much. She’d missed him so much. 

“I hate to steal from others, but I can think no better phrase.” He took her face in his hands, and pressed his forehead to hers. “I will always find you. I love you.”

A shallow, teary laugh left her mouth. She smothered it almost instantly, though, smashing her lips to his and refusing to let go. She could feel him again. She could kiss him, and touch him, and feel him. He was real. And she loved him. 

It was too soon that she had to release him, it seemed, her rebellious lungs begging for air when all she needed was in her arms. But Rumple’s face was still pressed to hers, his breath still hot on her skin, and that was more than enough.

Smiling, eyes filled with tears but smiling, he took her hand, holding her more reverently than he ever had before. This was it, she realized. Whatever happened now, she never needed to fear that he would leave her again. This was their happy ending.

“Now,” he hummed, brushing her hair away from her face, “why don’t we get started on that forever?”


End file.
